


We're Here to Save the Day

by goblinish



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinish/pseuds/goblinish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First, kill all the lawyers! Alternately: Harvey's tailor is pretty badass, and <i>Mike Ross</i> is a spy, what the fucking fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Here to Save the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song of the same name, by The Constellations.

**We're Here to Save the Day**

 

Rene eyes Harvey's reflection in the mirror - more accurately, Rene eyes the lightweight suit he's just finished for Harvey, his gaze sliding over the lines of the material in an efficient, professional scrutiny - and then gives a single discrete nod, apparently satisfied. 

Harvey looks at the suit, and himself in it, with a gaze no less impartial than Rene's - he may as well have been looking at a stranger. "Your work is, as ever, exquisite," he pronounces finally, equally satisfied. "Thank you." 

"I hope you will enjoy Greece, Mr. Specter."

Harvey smiles. "I'll be sure to tell you all about it," he says lightly, and Rene smiles back. 

\--

Rene's front office blows up. 

\--

So then there are projectiles flying around. That's fun. 

The walls between the front office/entryway and the back room protect them from the fires of the initial blast, but the force of it turns the building itself into a weapon. Something sharp slashes at Harvey's left arm before he drops to the ground, his ears ringing. The world suddenly seems to be at a near-mute.

Rene drops to the ground beside him and puts his hands over his head; distantly, Harvey thinks that this is an excellent idea, and covers his head, too, ignoring the pain in his arm. Rene's movements beside him are mechanical, and his expression is calm, almost bored. _Damn_ , Harvey thinks blankly, _the man could out-butler Jeeves._

But they're only down a half-second before Rene's eyes go wide and alarmed at the sound of gunfire in the front room, quick footsteps, the clattering of rubble kicked aside. Rene gestures rapidly for Harvey to follow him. They scramble up, running toward the back door until there's the shock of a warning shot fired too close behind and a deep voice that snaps, _"Stop."_

They freeze. They each cast a sideways glance at the other, and Rene looks resigned, maybe even apologetic - and Harvey pauses, abruptly coming back to himself. He's a _lawyer._

Yes, so, fuck _this._

Harvey shakes his head minutely, just once, trying to tell Rene that everything will be fine, and then slowly raises his hands. He turns around with careful deliberation, trying to transmit every movement before he makes it - don't worry, no threat here, no need to shoot - until he's facing the unknown gunman. 

And Harvey smiles.

"Let's not get hasty, here," he says; smooth, confident, and also oddly confiding - like a well-meaning friend, trying to prevent a mistake. "…I'm positive we can all get what we want, here."

Because Harvey Specter is the best closer in the city. 

\--

It absolutely would have worked, too, but Mike shows up and blows the guy's brains out. 

Mike Ross. _Mike Ross._

Mike walks in, cheerily taps the gunman on the shoulder, then punches him. They fight, their strikes economical and vicious and _loud_ , the whole thing rapid-fire brutal and then there's a scramble for the gun, and then it goes off, and then the gunman's brains are decorating Rene's mirror. 

The whole thing takes seconds.

So yes. That happened. 

\--

Apparently the gunfire from the front room had not been the gunman's friends slaughtering passing pedestrians, but Mike, fighting through them. Mike hands Harvey a gun, and looks warily at Rene when Rene retrieves one for himself, but makes no comment. 

"Rene," Mike asks instead, "where is Cristina?"

Rene's assistant. Mike barely met her and he remembers her name. Carebear Ross. Of course he remembers it. 

"On lunch," Rene answers, quiet gratitude in his voice.

"Okay, good," Mike replies. "Now then. Let's get back to the office," he continues. "It's no safe house, but it's close, and I have some procedures in place." Mike looks to Rene. "You can come, too," he says, and his tone is pleasant but it's not a request. 

Harvey stares down at the gun in his hands. He doesn't like guns. He can use them, had taught himself to use them not long after he hired Donna, but he doesn't like them. 

"Harvey," Mike says urgently. "We need to go."

And Harvey raises the gun and points it at Mike. "I'm going to need a good reason to do that," he says, faintly apologetic but firm. 

Mike blinks at him, takes a step back. "Harvey," he says, and the thing is, he actually sounds shocked, even hurt. And maybe Mike's reaction is incongruous with the competent professional who just shot a man in the head, but it also isn't pinging any of Harvey's rather formidable deception instincts. 

It's just _Mike._

Mike seems to gather himself. "Harvey, I need you to put that down," he says. "We need to get to a safe place."

"Who are you?" Harvey asks.

"I'm Mike Ross," Mike says. "I have an eidetic memory, I passed the bar without going to law school" - Rene looks rather interested to hear this - "and I'm an associate at Pearson Hardman. I applied as myself, Harvey."

"Why," Harvey snaps. 

"I'm CIA," Mike replies. "Listen, we need to go, I promise I'll explain at the office," but Harvey hasn't actually gotten past _I'm CIA._

That doesn't make any sense. 

Harvey shakes his head. "No," he says. "You're not."

"What? Harvey-"

"You are not a spy." 

Mike blinks. "I am," he says. He steps forward, watching Harvey carefully, and removes the gun from Harvey's relenting hands. "Harvey, Rene makes suits for a lot of important people," he says, and across the room, Rene stills.

Harvey stares at Mike.

And Harvey evaluates Mike all over again, trying to relearn him in just these few moments. He hopes he'll be able to fit what he sees now with the person he thought Mike was. Harvey has to think quickly, has to continue on according to his new knowledge and perceptions, but -

Harvey likes Mike. And suddenly he doesn't know how much of that was genuine, and how much was tailored specifically to appeal to Harvey. And the most ridiculous part, the worst thing, is that - 

There's a charge in the air, when they're in a room together. 

Sometimes Harvey turns to look at Mike, only to catch Mike staring at him, blatantly checking him out. And Mike might turn a bit pink, then, but he grins too, unapologetic. 

And they tend to stand or sit a little closer than necessary. Harvey will turn to whisper something to Mike in a meeting, and be spellbound by the curiously vulnerable tilt of Mike's neck - Harvey always wants to kiss the spot right behind his ear. And Mike - he always leans into him. They're almost close enough, every time. 

It has all seemed so inevitable, a delicious tension to luxuriate in before Harvey will finally have Mike spread out on his bed, but - 

"Let's go," Harvey says eventually. He keeps his expression bland. "The sooner we get there, the sooner you can start explaining."

\--

So Mike explains. 

First, Harvey eases into the dusty-but-unharmed jacket of his new suit, concealing his torn sleeve and the bleeding cut underneath, and all three of them hide a gun somewhere in their clothes. Harvey privately thinks that Mike and Rene probably each take several. 

Mike, Harvey and Rene head to the Pearson Hardman offices, and they end up making a ludicrous series of redirects and evasive maneuvers in the process, because both Mike and Rene are paranoid assholes. They frequently argue over the best course to take, Rene's customary dignity degenerating until he mostly just sounds snotty, and Mike's attempts to sound authoritative slowly start to sound like the whining of a wronged teenager. 

"Children," Harvey snaps. "You're making my arm hurt." 

"I think that's the gash, actually," Mike says sunnily, but he adds, "I'll take a look at it when we get there." Harvey glares at him. Mike presses his lips together. "Right. Shutting up now." 

Rene sniffs. 

When they get to the office, Donna glances at Harvey's wounded arm and frowns. There's no obvious problem - he's still in his jacket, and is deliberately not holding it too carefully, but she's an observant woman. 

Harvey tells her that the three of them will be in a meeting for awhile, and asks her to bring them coffee. Donna glances at Mike and Rene, nods, and then heads towards the break room and its beautiful, exorbitantly expensive space-age coffee machine.

They file into a conference room, pull the shades down on the glass walls facing the rest of the office (Harvey's office doesn't have blinds to shield them from the peons in the center work area), and lock the door. Mike takes out a device that, he says, will disable any bugs within a twenty-foot radius. Then he finally, finally starts talking.

Hardman - _the_ Hardman, Mike explains unprompted, he of Pearson Hardman - had been rather more than a lawyer. Hardman had collected information on foreign countries during his various business trips abroad, refusing to betray his own country but not at all particular about whether he spied on allies or enemies. He would then sell his observations to the terrorist market, through ( _"you guessed it,"_ Mike says with a grin) his tailor. 

They've left the actual windows uncovered, and Rene stands looking out at the city through most of this explanation. He doesn't appear to be paying attention, but looks faintly amused all the same.

"Did I miss anything?" Mike asks Rene pointedly, when he has finished. Rene turns back to face the room.

"Only that that was my predecessor," Rene says easily. " _I_ have never made a suit for Mr. Hardman," he adds, distaste seeping into his voice - to guess from the tone, Hardman may as well have lived with skunks. 

"Yeah, okay," Mike says. "But the connection between the shop and the black market for information remains. Hey, isn't that kind of a cliche?" he adds. "A tailor and a spy, isn't it all a little too John le Carre?"

Harvey grins a bit. Mike catches the expression out of the corner of his eye and grins back. 

"I mean, really?" Mike continues, "Don't you find it embarrassing?" 

Rene's brows draw together. "Harvey," he asks in a tired tone, "could you please put a leash on your puppy?", and Mike settles.

Harvey spins a pen in his hand slowly, considering. "Hardman is retired," he says after a minute. "Why are you here now?"

"The CIA suspected the line of communication was still open," Mike answers. He pauses. "Most likely through other senior partners at Pearson Hardman," he adds, and it sounds like an apology. 

In the corner, Rene laughs softly, but both Mike and Harvey ignore him. 

"I wasn't a senior partner when you came to the firm." 

"No," Mike replies, his eyes rather more intent than necessary. He seems to be trying to convey three or thirteen more meanings than the word can actually express. "You just happened to be in charge of hiring."

There's an awkward pause, but the tight coil of bitterness in Harvey eases, somewhat. Anything before Mike got hired, yeah, that's questionable - but Harvey wasn't the mark. Anything that came after…

Harvey smiles. He clicks his pen closed and puts it on the long conference table. "And what made the CIA think the best approach was a briefcase full of pot and 'I don't have a law degree'?" he asks lightly.

Mike laughs, looking a little embarrassed. It absolutely does not look endearing, except that it does. "We thought you would respond best to something…unorthodox. And I don't have the degree, but I do have the knowledge. I was actually the best available option at the time." His expression grows serious. "I didn't lie to you, Harvey. I really did get kicked out of undergrad. The CIA just...picked up the pieces." Mike smiles then, and it isn't quite a happy expression. "They like eidetic memories, too."

Harvey frowns, remembering Mike's words from that day - _I got knocked into a different life, and I have been wishing for a way back ever since._

Before Harvey can say anything, there's a light knock on the door. Rene leans over and unlocks it, and Donna steps in, carrying a cup of coffee. She shuts the door behind her and walks over to Harvey, setting the cup neatly on the table beside his pen, and -

Her gun is out and pointed at Mike. 

Warned by some instinct, Mike's gun is pointing at Donna in almost the same moment. His eyes are huge.

Rene, bored, buffs his nails on his suit jacket. 

Harvey raises his eyebrows and looks expectantly at his associate, as if this were a trial he required Mike to win. Harvey sits down in the chair at the head of the table, and settles in to watch.

\--

It never ceases to amaze Harvey how fast Donna can do that - draw a gun. But Mike's comparable speed, Harvey realizes, has produced an entirely different sort of interest. 

Idly he remembers Mike's brief fight with the gunman at Rene's shop - the terrible, fascinating efficiency of it, the edged physicality, the sheer _competence._

The smooth silk of his new suit is suddenly an odd sort of torture. Harvey shifts in his seat. 

\--

"What the fuck?" Mike is saying, eyes wide. "Seriously, _what the fucking fuck?"_

"Harvey," Donna says, "are you alright?"

"Isn't 'coffee' just a yellow alert?" Harvey asks mildly, and Donna huffs. 

"You're wounded, and you actually brought Rene _here_. I assumed you couldn't figure out how to work 'aubergine' into a sentence on short notice. _Are you alright?"_

"Wait," Mike says. "Wait, wait, wait." A beat goes by. "Wait, what kind of signal is 'aubergine'?" 

"I'm alright, Donna," Harvey says. "And so is Mike. He's CIA, too." 

The room is frozen for a moment.

Mike, after scrutinizing Donna carefully for several moments, slowly starts to lower his gun onto the table. She follows suit, equally slow. They place their weapons down, and each takes a step back.

Mike breaks the tension when his features fall into a sheepish look. "'Coffee' was a signal?" 

Donna raises a brow. "I don't get coffee." The _duh_ seems to be implied. 

Rene looks at Harvey. "Would you like to do the honors?" he asks.

"Oh, yes," Harvey replies equably. "Mike," he continues, enjoying himself immensely, "meet Donna. Our handler."

\--

"You're a spy," Mike says flatly.

They're in Harvey's office. Rene is just outside, chatting with the peons. He's devoting half his attention to watching Mike and Harvey through the glass walls of Harvey's office, and the other half to flirting with Greg. 

Donna told them to move to Harvey's office, and that they could talk alone there as long as Rene could see them - Mike is visibly annoyed that she trusts Rene more than she trusts him - but as she made these arrangements solely in order to find a secure line and confirm Mike's story, Mike had wisely refrained from complaining.

Harvey leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers. He has a certain sympathy for Mike, but that horrible empty feeling when Mike turned out to be someone different is still uncomfortably close, almost a sense memory. Harvey has the upper hand again, and yes, maybe he luxuriates in it a little; his world feels a little more in order. 

"No. I'm a lawyer."

"With _a CIA handler,_ " Mike says scathingly, tearing a hand through his hair.

Harvey nods. 

"You're a spy," Mike says wonderingly. "God. You're a spy. I can't believe it."

"I'm really not," Harvey says gently. "I think the term is 'asset.'"

Mike nods, paces a little. "Right. _Donna's_ a spy. Donna - huh." He pauses. "Actually, I really should have guessed that," he says, and Harvey grins. 

"So everything I explained before - about Hardman and Rene and the shop, and the overseas business trips - you knew all that," Mike says suddenly.

Harvey nods. "Rene took charge of the business seven years ago. He was horrified to find what it was hiding. He contacted the CIA, who asked him to turn the operation into an outlet for agency-approved misinformation."

"Okay. Where do you come into this?" 

"I am now the one taking the business trips."

"Oh, Jesus," Mike says. "You're a double agent, both of you, you're - you are in _so much danger_ , Harvey." 

"I have Donna."

"Donna wasn't there today!"

"But you were," Harvey says, in a tone much like the conciliatory one he'd used to open negotiations with the gunman. 

"Don't humor me," Mike mutters blackly, rubbing his hand over his face.

"I'm not," Harvey says. "Thank you."

For some reason, this seems to surprise Mike. "I'm a spy," he says eventually. "That's what I do." 

\--

"So the way I see it," Donna says, dragging Rene in behind her as she walks into Harvey's office, "we have two major problems."

"One," Mike says from his chair in front of Harvey's desk, "your operation has been compromised somehow." 

Donna nods. "Harvey and Rene were attacked, and we don't know which of them was the target." 

" - Which of them Rene's superiors assume to be disloyal," Mike clarifies, and Donna nods grimly. 

"Could be that they doubt both of us," Harvey interrupts. His tone is idle. "Or just one of us, but they've gone after us both because they don't know or care which is their traitor. Maybe they just want to cover their bases." He threads his fingers together, resting his hands on his stomach, and indulges in a small smile at the corner of his mouth - he's trying to look unconcerned, in control, and from the frustrated looks that cross both Donna's and Mike's faces, he knows he's succeeded at it. 

"Right," Donna says after a moment. "Obviously, that isn't acceptable. Problem two," she continues, "is you, Mike."

"I kind of thought you were getting to like me."

"Which is why I'd really rather you weren't dead," she says pointedly. "Your identity cleared with my bosses, Michael, but that raises a couple more questions."

Mike nods. "Why I wasn't informed that there were already assets in place, for one."

Rene chimes in. "Why was another agent added to a successful operation to begin with?" he asks, and Mike makes a face at him, but doesn't argue the point. "After all, it wasn't compromised yet, when Mr. Ross joined the firm."

"And why wasn't I informed, once the CIA knew the network was in danger?" Mike looks at Donna. "I presume you were just told as much, by your superiors?", and she nods. 

"Wait," Rene says. "If you didn't know there would be an attack, then why were you there to rescue us? You had no appointment."

There's a slight pause before Mike blushes. Harvey watches the color spread over his cheeks with great interest.

_"Anyway,"_ Donna cuts in. Her look encompasses both Harvey and Rene. "You two need protection."

"I can arrange my own," Rene says coolly. His tone brooks no argument, and Donna considers him for a moment before nodding. 

Harvey figures she'll put a tail on him, anyway. 

"And you," Donna continues, turning to Harvey, "I can protect you when we're at work. It may look odd if your assistant starts following you everywhere, but it would look stranger if you stopped letting your associate out of your sight." She casts a sly sideways glance at Mike. "Which leaves Ross with the night shift," she finishes innocently. 

Harvey really loves Donna. He's giving her a raise.

He looks up at Mike. "You can move into my apartment."

\--

"Windows," Mike mutters once they step inside. "What is it with you and windows?"

"Make yourself at home," Harvey drawls, and heads to the bedroom to change. 

Mike won't let him order anything in ( _"I do not feel like killing a delivery kid right now, Harvey, even when they are spies that is a terrible way to thank people for bringing you food"_ ), so Harvey cooks. The work is pretty minimal - a quick marinade that accents the steak, but still lets the meat speak for itself - but Mike takes one bite, blinks, and then devours it, alternating between effusive praise and these exquisite, practically orgasmic little moans. Harvey's cock is very interested by these noises, and very frustrated by the lack of nakedness. The whole thing should have been embarassing. 

"Oh my _God_ , Harvey," Mike says over and over again. " _So good._ " 

"You're ridiculous," Harvey says fondly, when what he means is _for the love of God please take off your pants_.

"I have three guns and two knives on me," Mike says blithely, and a shiver races down Harvey's spine. "By definition I can't be ridiculous."

Mike has borrowed a pair of sweatpants and a pale blue t-shirt from Harvey. Both are too large for him, but also too thin to conceal anything all that easily. Harvey sits there and looks at Mike, who is wearing Harvey's clothes, and he thinks about where the knives might be. And the guns. 

Mike takes another bite, chewing happily, before he really looks at Harvey again. He stills, puts his fork down, and swallows the bite. "Hidden weapons?" he asks. "Really?"

"We're talking about this?" 

"I - yeah," Mike breathes. "Yeah, we're talking about this." 

Harvey considers. "Alternately," he suggests, "we could skip the talking," and Mike grins as dirty as he fights.

So Harvey finally has Mike laid out naked on his bed, and they're kissing, a slow hot mess of a kiss, Harvey holding Mike's wrists down over his head and leisurely fucking into Mike's mouth with his tongue - and that's when they hear a faint crash from the living room. Mike tenses up beneath him, and Harvey groans quietly. "It's the cat," Harvey whispers, and drops his head in the crook of Mike's neck.

"You don't have a cat," Mike answers miserably. 

"God damn it," Harvey says, and sits up. Mike slithers over to the bedside table, grabs his gun, and gets up off the bed. Harvey takes one of Mike's other guns, takes a moment to pull on a pair of sleep pants, and prepares to stay out of the way. 

There are two intruders. The fight is brutal, visceral; Mike's gun is kicked away almost immediately, and it turns into a close-quarters melee. In the movies, spies always seem to fight elegantly, coming out of it with their tuxedos none the worse for wear and not a hair out of place. Mike is just _mean_. He uses his environment and doesn't fight fair, attacks the two men in Harvey's apartment with a fast and vicious competence. 

And he's still naked, which means that once they're both safe Harvey's going to be able to get hard just thinking about this; but for the moment, all it means is that Harvey feels a profound gratitude, a bone-deep understanding for every last one of the muscles in Mike's body. 

Harvey waits.

At one point Mike throws one of his assailants far enough away from the main free-for-all that Harvey doesn't worry about friendly fire; in the space of one breath he decides, aims, and fires. It's a clean hit to the intruder's shoulder, and the man drops. From there, it's over quickly - Mike finishes his fight with the other assailant by smashing his head into Harvey's flat screen. 

Harvey very pointedly does not complain about that. Mike rolls his eyes. 

Mike isn't even breathing hard.

Harvey holds out the gun. Mike nods and starts walking toward him, though now he can't seem to look at anything other than Harvey's naked chest - Mike looks almost wistful, and Harvey doesn't bother to keep the smirk off his face. 

Mike steps up close, too close. He eases into Harvey's space, and the air between them feels warm, electric. Mike looks down, watches his own fingertips slide down Harvey's arm, and then he takes the gun from Harvey's hand. 

"This is not over," Mike says, and Harvey raises his eyebrows, smiling slightly. 

Damn straight it's not. 

Mike sighs and turns back to the unconscious men. He binds them both - Harvey has no idea where Mike had the rope, and yes, that's interesting, too - then pulls off their masks. The first face gets no particular reaction at all, but the second - 

"That's my boss," Mike says blankly. He looks up at Harvey. "At the CIA, I mean. It's my other boss."

\--

The universe really doesn't want Harvey to get laid tonight. 

Harvey walks over to the mess of glass that used to be his coffee table, fishes his cell phone out of the debris, and starts pressing buttons. "He gave me this assignment," Harvey hears Mike say behind him, bewildered.

Right.

So anyway, Harvey has Donna on speed dial. 

\--

Donna's boss arrests Mike's boss. 

Turns out the man had taken an eight-figure bribe to turn the channel of misinformation back into information, and to punish the double agents. As to Mike's involvement, well - from what they can tell, he'd chosen to send Mike in because he just didn't like him. 

_("I shared my weed with him," Mike says indignantly. "I'm a nice guy."_

_And Harvey says, "The CIA is a very permissive workplace."_

_And Donna says, "It's really not.")_

Rene is offered a new identity, which he refuses - he wouldn't be able to hide properly unless he chose a new profession; which, he explains, would entirely defeat the purpose of his life.

_("No. I am an artist. I can't live without my art."_

_"And you're rich enough to hire your own army of bodyguards," Harvey adds._

_"Well, of course," Rene says. "Good taste doesn't come cheap.")_

And Harvey and Mike have sex.

Finally. 

_Lots and lots_ of sex.

\--

"Are you done here, then?"

"No. The CIA decided that Pearson Hardman can still be my cover. Donna's, too."

"And me? I'm your cover?"

"Mm. You certainly - "

"Do not make a joke about me covering you."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good."

"Oh, _God_ , do that again."

"Happily."

A few minutes pass. 

"You're not just a cover," Mike says.

"I know."

"Just because I never _expected_ to feel -"

"I know that, too."

There's a pause. "I'm not going to apologize," Mike says quietly. "I'm not sorry. And you were hiding something pretty substantial from me, too."

Harvey leans over to kiss him, gently. 

"I'm not sorry, either," he says.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Original Author's Note** 08/09/2011: Ugh, so, I know the whole thing just sort of collapsed in on itself way too neatly? That is because I am crap at plot. :( 
> 
> If anyone wants to know what happens next, in my head it turns into a sort of Covert Affairs fusion, but structured with an equal amount of time at Pearson Hardman as the CIA Headquarters. And Harvey's life should have gotten much less stressful now that he's fallen out of the accidental asset thing he originally fell into, and can just be a goddamn lawyer, but his boyfriend is a spy who spends his vacation time doing god knows what, who knows where, so - yeah, more stressed!
> 
>  
> 
> **Author's Note** 10/20/2013: I was proud of this one, not because I succeeded - I still think the whole thing basically collapsed - but because I was experimenting. I give myself points for ambition :). In retrospect, I wish I'd worked harder on the romance - I don't think I'd have included the pairing at all if I hadn't been writing to a prompt, mostly because I was too preoccupied with trying to create a particular tone. 
> 
> Originally posted here: http://suitsmeme.livejournal.com/2038.html?thread=1967606#t1967606


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